Recovery
by Fireburst1211
Summary: Brief headcanon of Artemis after Endgame. Also how I imagine the major disappointment of that episode would be fixed. Familiar with the Speedforce from JLU? Reviews are cool.


Pale moonlight filters down through the haze of the day, reaching the cool, empty streets of Gotham below. She stands still atop an abandoned apartment building, crossbow gripped firmly and aimed for a rampart of the old library across the street. Cool, storm-gray eyes stare out vigilantly from beneath the mask, the likeness of the tiger still alien to her. Arm poised, she pulls the trigger, gaze following the arrow and the cable trailing behind it. A dull thump reaches her ears a second later, and she tugs at the line, testing its hold. The former archer holds fast to the end of the cable, gracefully swinging over the desolate street and onto the old rooftop of the library. Quickly recoiling the line, she retrieves the arrow, testing the tip and notching it in her crossbow once more.

She repeats the action several times, making her way through the gritty parts of the city. Occasionally she drops down into an alleyway, breaks up minor skirmishes that are all too common in Gotham. She had the chance to leave, before. She could still leave if she wanted to. But she doesn't, because there's nobody waiting to retire into the civilian lifestyle with her. She barely believes she could function as a normal human being anymore. Not without him. Stupid, heroic him. Her grim features contort into a pained grimace as she thinks about him. Or at least thinks more about him.

He's always on her mind, streaking by in his gaudy costume, making sarcastic remarks, making her smile. Thousands of images flash through her mind as distant memories. Every hurt and comfort, he was there. But now he was gone, and the most recent image was that of a massive cyclone somewhere in the Arctic. Where he vanished from her life forever. Hell, if only the other speedsters had slowed enough to save him in time. If only he hadn't Zeta tubed away without a word to so selflessly save them all. She would have been able to prevent it, an arrow in his calf, to stop him from running away forever. They would've retired, lived a civil life away from all the danger and action that claimed his life. The universe hadn't even been kind enough to leave his body for her to mourn over. Only his material belongings and memories. She sucks in sharply at the unfairness, crouching over a cold stone ledge and unleashing an arrow into a would-be gun man's wrist, effectively pinning his arm to a brick wall and forcing him to drop his weapon. She doesn't even glance at the near-victims, already leaping over to the next rooftop and out of sight.

She arrives after a few hours at the familiar fire escape of her mother's apartment, silently opening the window and stepping into her old room. Boxes of his possessions left behind litter all possible space, and she frustratingly kicks at the nearest one, causing it to tip over. A multitude of his souvenirs tumble onto the wooden floor, making a rather loud noise. The immediate cry of her niece downstairs is the response, followed by the comforting voice of her mother. She steps back out of the window, preferring not to be surrounded by his things and all the memories they hold. Perching upon the railing of the metal balcony, she gazes out to the hub of the city, the glow of the Wayne Industries building burning brightly into the evening. Even in such a populated city, the air has gone silent, the dull roar of the nightly traffic dying down and fading into the background.

Suddenly, a distinct whoosh reaches her ears, faint but gaining clarity. Her gloved fingers grip tightly at the crossbow handle, and her eyes narrow as she stills to try to make out the source of the sound. A gust of cold wind nearly knocks her from her perch on the fire escape, though she recovers quickly, standing upright on the metal grating. A moment later, the gust comes again, and an unseen force yanks at her blonde hair. A low, pleading roar as quiet as a whisper seems to come from the space next to her, and she turns to face the source, reaching up hesitantly with her free hand. She gropes about in the dim light of the evening, lips forming his name without a sound. She waves her outstretched arm in a circular motion, nearly completing the arc before a rift materializes out of the air, a great, vacuum-like force drawing her closer to it. Giving a surprised cry, she aims her crossbow behind her to the metal railing, firing and effectively securing her line. She feels the sensation of something holding tightly to her wrist from within the swirling vortex before her, the opening nearly as tall as herself. As the air is sucked from her lungs, she holds fast to the cable, trying with a great effort to pull herself from the void. All the while the roar fills her ears, nearly deafening her, the sound of her own name pulsing in her eardrums.

This only fuels her desire to get away from it, her wrist throbbing painfully from the unknown entity beyond the hole. She tugs vigorously, securing the cable to her waist to anchor herself to the fire escape. Reaching her other free hand into the vortex, she grabs hold of the object, pulling back. She is rewarded with the feeling of the object giving in to her efforts, and takes a step back to get a firmer stance. She repeats the action, until she is able to fully remove her arms, a crimson-gloved hand holding tightly to her wrist. Filled with a new drive at the sight of this, she tugs furiously, stumbling back and pulling him with her.

As his feet leave the void, it seals up, the deafening roar immediately dissipating into silence. She lays flat on her back upon the cool metal grating, breathing heavily from the effort. She hit her head pretty hard, and her mask lies beside her. Blinking dazedly, she stares down at the young man lying on top of her. His breathing is ragged, body heaving in pure exhaustion. The bright, gaudy colors of his costume have been torn from his body in places, the material too weak to hold up to the sheer speed. His goggles sit awkwardly on his face, bright red hair swept back upon his skull. He lifts his head from her abdomen, catching his breath. White teeth flash in a tired smile, goggles lift from his green eyes, and she breaks down, tears rolling freely down her face. _Hey babe, miss me?_


End file.
